Beloved
by Min Daae
Summary: Sandor/Cersei. AU wherein Sandor doesn't run into Arya and Cersei is exiled. Sex and manipulation; you decide which is more important, dear reader.
1. Chapter 1

Sandor didn't know where she'd come from. He didn't want to know where she'd come from. All he wanted was for her to go back there.

She was the last woman he would have ever wanted on his hands, and yet she seemed to have managed to attach herself. She moved quickly enough, he would give her that. And at least she didn't cry anymore. Much. She still sniffled nearly continuously, but after he'd told her he would spank her if she said the Kingslayer's name one more time she at least stopped that particular bit.

"You don't want to go with me," he told her. "Trust me on nothing else, but you can take my word for that." He was going north. The Wall would take any man, they said. Well, he'd find the truth of that. He'd never minded the cold and the company of criminals and liars was exactly what he was used to. Dying on the Wall would be better than dying at the end of a noose.

She said nothing, but every morning when he cinched Stranger's girth she was there, already packed and ready, watching him through her pale eyelashes. She never looked right at him. That made him angry, but Sandor tried to ignore it, mostly. She wasn't worth getting angry at. Not anymore.

He discovered, though, that even a dog needed company sometimes.

Tearing off a strip of jerky with his teeth, he watched her through half-lidded eyes. "Why were you exiled?"

That haughty face was more the bitch-queen he knew. "I don't see what business it is of yours."

"I don't see what business it isn't. Did they finally figure out you're a whore?"

She stiffened. "You dare, dog-"

"Not your dog anymore." He let his mouth twist in something that was not a smile. "Or did they just get sick of you?"

She slapped him. It didn't really catch him by surprise that she did it. It did that it hurt. His face stung and he let his head swivel with the impact but all the same. He resisted the urge to bare his teeth and snarl and kept his voice low and even. "Don't do that again. You're not a queen anymore."

"Are you threatening me?"

"Probably. I don't want you here and you can keep your hands off me. Don't think I won't kill you."

"Why haven't you yet?" Her eyes glittered, bright green, treacherous jade, almost smiling, satisfied with her own cleverness. _You desire me. You would do anything for just one touch from me if it were the right kind. _He turned his head away.

"Call it laziness," he said bluntly, coldly, and lay down with his back to her, shutting off the conversation. She said nothing more.

The next day, though, she was no different. He ignored her as long as she could, but the way she was watching made that difficult. Taking a swig from the swiftly dwindling wine skin he'd bought in the last town, he didn't look over his shoulder. "Stop staring. Get on your damn horse and start moving if you need to do something."

"How do I know you won't just leave me?" She sounded almost nervous. Wasn't that funny. He felt his mouth curve in a stupid, angry smile.

"If I were going to leave you I wouldn't make it subtle. Move." There was another lengthy silence, and she surprised him this time.

"If you aren't going to call me by my rightful title I would have you call me Cersei." He could almost imagine the way she would toss her hair there. "No name at all is far more insulting." He shook his head.

"I wouldn't think of being so informal with your person." And let her make of that what she would. He swung onto Stranger, snapped his reins. "Ride." She rode. He didn't look at her the whole day, but she was still there when they stopped for the night. He built the fire and brought down the food in silence. The quiet was almost a relief.

Until she sniffled, quietly. He looked across the fire at her, dully, frustrated.

"I thought he would come for me," she said, and he wanted to curse. Did curse, poking the fire viciously.

"Didn't I tell you to shut up about that?"

"We're like one person," she said, looking at him, her face shining with tears. Who knew if they were false? "I thought for certain that he would come, even after everything, come and save me."

Sandor jerked to his feet. "He didn't. Move on. People don't do what you want them to. Time you got used to that."

"And instead I got _you_." He could almost hear her sneer. "A cowardly, runaway, dog." He almost snarled, but kept it back. He could just leave. It would be the wiser choice. He half turned and she was standing, eyes wide and red across the fire.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"I asked for my brother, my dearest brother, and the gods give me _you_, bastard. Traitor." This time, he couldn't help the snarl and turned angry eyes on her fully. Back down and back off.

"There are no gods," he snapped. "You don't want to get in a fight with me, your grace. And I already told you I'm not going to worry about killing you. If it's that bad then it's not like one more bitch-queen's death will matter much."

"You're right about one thing," she said, and he could hear her hysteria and tensed. "You're right. There are no gods. Not if _you _exist."

It was so – stupid, he couldn't help but laugh, short and sharp, and that seemed to anger her more. She lunged across the fire and for a moment he flinched – and damned himself for it the moment afterwards. "If you think to mock me," she hissed, "Jaime would kill you for such."

"Jaime isn't here," he said, nastily, baring his teeth down at here. "Jaime fucking Lannister doesn't care about you anymore."

It was then that she flung herself at him, screaming. He was caught by surprise and stepped back, but she was still beating against his chest with her fists and it didn't hurt and she wouldn't reach his face, but he didn't want her here, had never wanted her here, and caught her wrist before the next blow fell. "Stop," Sandor growled, eyes boring into her face. "Stop, now, or I'll-"

He stopped when her hand slid between his legs and grasped his genitals, going rigid in one moment.

"What kind of man are you," she hissed. "Alone on an empty road, with me, and not once – what kind of man are you? Can you even get it up? Take me back and I'll let you do anything you want to me. Take me to my brother and I can even get you pardoned, maybe."

He tried to pull away, but her hand tightened. "I'm not taking you back," he snarled. "I'm not going back. I don't want to go back. I don't want _you._"

"That's a lie," she said, voice lowering to a purr, her eyelashes dusting her cheeks in a slow blink. "You do. I've seen the way you look at me."

"I warned you if you touched me again-"

"Then do it," she purred, leaning up towards him. "Do it, rip my clothes off, fuck me senseless if you want. You said I'm a whore? Very well. Every whore has her price. I have named mine." Sandor could feel her body press against his, even with her hand between them, stroking through the fabric. Stirring him.

He held very still. Her gaze was sultry. "Take me back. You don't have to stay, then, if you don't wish it. And as long as the journey lasts…" She let the end of the sentence linger, tantalizing, and he hated the shiver that ran down his spine. She twined herself closer, thumb now rubbing along the distinct shape of his cock through the fabric. "Sandor…"

He shoved her down, away, backed off several steps even if he could still feel the warm press of her body. It'd been a long time since he'd had a woman, any woman, and his body wanted even if his mind held back. Sandor's mouth twisted. "You think you're the first one to try this? I know where I'm going. I don't need your sex to get there."

Her hands were at the front of her dress, undoing the laces that held the bodice together. She pulled them apart deliberately, sprawled languidly on the ground, somehow, even in the dirt, managing to look like some sort of goddess. Her breasts were round and perfect and would have fit nicely in his hands. She pulled the bodice down just enough that her nipples peeped out. His pants were becoming more and more uncomfortable. "Come," she murmured, just loud enough to be heard. "Don't deny yourself. One small favor. Whatever you ask." She rose, slowly, the dress slipping off her shoulders as she glided back toward him. "Whatever you like."

He hated her. Sandor hated her with every particle of his being, and he couldn't say no. He moved and kissed her, hand in her hair, forcefully, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, deliberately pushing her, drawing her head back, pressing her hips crudely against his.

She went limp and whimpered against his lips.

He started to pull back, startled, but her hands went into his hair and pulled him back down, kissing him again, open-mouthed, drawing near enough to press her breasts against his chest.

Maybe he'd been wrong.

"You are a man," she breathed, against his mouth, and he didn't want to hear what she would say, any sweet lies or anything, and kissed her again, letting his tongue probe deeper, and again she was pliant in his arms, her hands now working at his shoulders, rubbing against him-

Sandor dropped her and she fell hard. Breathing heavily, he forced himself to take a step away. "What are you playing at," he said, "What are you doing this for," but she dropped the dress all the way down to her waist and before he was conscious of making the muffled sound from his throat he had pulled her up and was kissing her again, letting his hands be filled with her, savoring her whimpers – not all false, not that and the way her nipples were hard at the tips of her breasts – he pinched one and she nearly squealed, squirming against him so he could almost not keep back a moan. Her hands worked him free of his shirt and this time he didn't stop her, though his skin rippled with a chill as the air hit it.

He didn't wait, this time, but took her and stripped her dress off over her hips, pulling her body to his by the waist. The curve of her hips was generous, wide, her belly smooth and pale and perfect down to the curly golden hair at the apex of her legs. He could hear the breath hiss through his own teeth as he laid her down in the closest thing to dry ground there was – leaves – straddled her hips, and opened his pants.

Her eyes widened a little but he ignored her, shoving his pants down just enough to go over his hips. Her hands grasped at his neck, his shoulders, and he brought her legs up with her knees clamped around his chest and drove into her.

She was far from a virgin, but he was still surprised that she could take all of him. She whimpered, but didn't cry out, squirming against him, but with no denial. Her fingernails dug into his neck.

"More," she said, and he heard the rumble in his own throat and didn't know if it was anger or desire, if he was proving something to himself or truly did want her. "More. Harder. Jaime could always make me scream-" Her nails would carve furrows in his shoulders. Sandor didn't care. He thrust again, bracing her knees higher, moving more powerfully. Cersei whined, faintly.

"Gods – Sandor-" He hated her for saying his name like that, and moved deliberately to rub against her, but that only set her to panting and got him harder, cock almost pulsing with need. Again, embraced by her sweetness, feeling her rub deliberately along him, the moisture of her cunt and the sound of her little cries – he kissed her again, pressing his whole body along hers, feeling her move to rub her breasts up and down against his chest.

Breathing raggedly, it was almost painful. He pulled out of her, drawing her to her knees.

"Anything," he asked, roughly. "Anything, you said," and she blanched a little but said "Anything," in almost a whisper, and began to move to go down on him.

Sandor wrapped his arms around her waist and turned her around instead, her back to his front, and heard her whimper of "Oh…" but she said no more. He ran one hand between her legs, feeling how moist she was, belly aching with want and need. Her hips rocked against him, her round buttocks rubbing along his length, and with his other hand he spread her apart, rubbing against her second entrance, and could hear her gasp, feel the surge of unexpected warmth on his fingers.

He brought his hand into her from the front and his cock from the back in one movement. Or at least his head – she squirmed, wriggled, but he had no more patience left. He needed a climax.

Sandor gripped her hips, hard, and pulled her down onto him. This time she did squeal, stretching around him, her arms flailing and finally settling on Sandor's thighs beneath her, squeezing as he pressed his way little by little into her. She was howling before long, but she was looser then, and letting go of her he let his fingers wander back to rub against her clit, and she was almost dripping with moisture.

"Gods," she whimpered, so faint he almost could not hear. "Gods…"

He rocked against her once and she squeezed around him as she came, and he burst as well, almost yelling with the force of his ejaculation, jerking upward into her ass.

He held her there until she stopped whimpering, and then pulled free and dumped her on the ground. His breeches were stained and stiff with cum and Cersei's moisture. Sandor pulled them back together, fastening them. Cersei, panting, reached for her dress, her eyes wide on him.

"Riverrun," he said, tersely, "Fine. That far, or close enough. Your damn brother's supposed to be there, and I wish you good luck in finding him."


	2. Chapter 2

He never should have touched her.

He knew why he had, obviously, but that didn't make it any better. She watched him every moment like a hawk, and he could hardly tell if it was suspicious or hungry, but it was annoying. Damn, but hadn't he always sworn no woman would have him by the cock? Queen fucking Cersei thought she did now.

Sandor was going to prove her wrong. So he ignored her.

Unfortunately, it didn't seem to bother her that much. She watched him anyway, lounging on a blanket stolen from an abandoned shed, just watching. Snarling at her would have done nothing. Maybe she liked being snarled at. For all the prickling between his shoulder blades, all he could do was keep silent.

Keep silent and become very short on patience.

She nudged her horse up beside his, smiling like she used to. Thinking that she was going to her precious brother had erased any trace of self-pity or humility she might have had before. "How far are we from Riverrun?"

"Several days. If nothing happens." He didn't look at her, though he could see her hair, still gleaming through the dirt, out of the corner of his eye. Her hand crept over and rested lightly on his thigh.

"Can't we move a little faster?"

He gritted his teeth and fought to keep his voice even. "Move your hand and if you touch me again I'll break your wrist." She laughed, but took her hand away.

"Well?"

"No. If you want to go faster you can go ahead by yourself." He nudged Stranger into a faster walk to pull ahead of her, and was relieved when she didn't follow.

When they stopped for a rest, Sandor threw himself down against a tree and let his eyes close, wondering if he could catch any rest before the bitch-queen drove them on again. He opened his eyes a slit to look for her and found her watching him, again, and unlacing the bodice of her battered dress, provocatively slowly.

"What are you doing," he growled.

"There's some water," she said, eyes not leaving his face once. "I'm going to wash."

"Enjoy yourself," he said, flatly, and closed her eyes. He could still see her nude form behind his eyelids, smooth and soft and warm. Her hand settled over the hardening bulge in his pants.

"I might," she murmured. Sandor opened his eyes just enough to see her stripped to her underclothing and straddling his legs. She smiled, and he wondered how he ever could have fucked a woman with a smile like that.

"Get your hand off me," he said, flatly, and did not move.

"Every dog has his day. Why not take yours? Surely it is not such an imposition, just to hurry a little more…"

He bared his teeth. "I'm not your dog. Not anymore."

She flexed her hand, rubbed up and down with her thumb, shifting to rub her crotch against his thigh. He stiffened. "Whose are you," she asked, poison sweet. "If not mine?"

"No one's," he snarled, and brought his leg up hard. She gasped, and he took her moment of surprise to shove her off and stand. "Keep your hands off me. And put your fucking clothes on. I already know you're a whore."

She flushed, then, and pulled her bodice up, eyes blazing like a lioness. "If you think I let just anyone –"

Sandor took a step back and snarled, again. "I'm sure not just anyone gets the ihonor/i of fucking you twice. Except maybe your brother." Cersei slapped him with a furious noise and the full force of his arm. This time he didn't let his head turn, just stared at her, anger thumping in his belly.

"You should be grateful, _Hound, _that-"

"That what?" He sneered. "I have nothing to be grateful to you for. Nothing. If I were i_smart/i _I would have killed you by now and sold your carcass to the highest bidder."

"No one pays for a dead queen," she said, but he could see the fear in her eyes, finally. "You wouldn't dare."

"Don't tell me what I would or wouldn't dare," he said, low, dark, mean. "My brother did it to Elia. What says I can't do it to you?" Sandor turned his back and stalked away, and for once she didn't stop him. He was grateful. If she had, he wouldn't have been able to keep from touching her, and whatever else he was he was determined not to be Gregor.

Sandor slept alone in an otherwise empty clearing, on his back in the tall grass, pretending he was passed out drunk. He dreamed giddy dreams of Cersei Lannister taking him in her mouth an inch at a time until she swallowed his whole length. She looked up at him, eyes glazed and mouth full of his cock. He woke up frustrated and panting.

When he found her again, Cersei was trying to make a fire. He watched her for a few moments before letting her know he was there. "You're doing it wrong. And you don't want a fire anyway. Too noticeable."

No one, before, he thought, had ever been relieved to see his face. He said nothing, gathering his equipment and untying Stranger. "Mount up," he said, briefly, and saw her smile that nasty little smile, and hated her again.

He knew before they stopped that there was going to be trouble again. Sandor was tending to Stranger when he felt her approaching from behind, and tensed, but she reached up to his shoulders.

"You got what you wanted," he said, harshly. "Stop playing games."

"A Lannister always pays her debts." He could almost hear her smile and swallowed hard. Anything, she'd promised. As long as the journey lasted. His body didn't forget what she'd felt like the last time.

"Have care, i_your grace/i. _I might think i_you/i _want i_me/i._" Her hands kneaded his shoulders, but he tensed them rock hard, so Cersei rubbed her fingers along the grooves of clenched muscle instead.

"Don't be preposterous. I only would rather keep my dog well fed." Her hands slid up his chest, and he was now conscious of her breasts pressed to his back, and fought not to make a sound, to keep breathing normally.

"Take your hands off."

"No."

He turned quickly enough that she couldn't move away, grasped her wrist and squeezed. She went nearly limp, nails pressing into the leather of his jerkin, leaving impressions as she drew them down with force that would tear skin. Her lips were slightly parted, her throat bared, eyes daring him, challenging him-

Sandor wrapped her hair around his hand, yanked her head back, and kissed her as hard as he could. She moaned, this time, body rolling against him in waves, and he held her there as long as he dared.

Then he dragged her to his bedroll, turned her away from him, and forced her to her knees. Gritting his teeth and holding her hair out of the way, he cut her dress apart down the back.

"That's my only," she started to protest, and he shook her.

"Then you can fix it," he snapped, shoved her face down into the fur he used for a pillow, and moved his hand to open his pants.

And then stopped. He pulled his hand away from the laces of his breeches and took his eyes away from her sex. Cersei panted.

"What are you waiting for – do it, dog."

He pushed her cheek harder into the bedroll, and clamped his teeth together. "Not your dog," he said, through them. "And I don't want you."

"You lie-"

"So do you. Everyone lies." He bared his teeth, though she couldn't see, and watched her breasts heave with every breath, hating his desire. "You say you don't want me. That's a lie too. I've had enough of fucking _lies _and I'm not fucking yours."

"What kind of a man are you?" She gasped, panting. Naked, he could see that she was flushed and moist. "What does it matter? I would _let _you do the filthiest things you desire to me, if you do what I ask…"

"That's just another kind of whore," he snarled, and tightened his fist, pressed her face harder to the blanket. "I'm not a whore. I don't want you. What kind of man am I? One with enough self-respect not to fuck a bitch twice." She whimpered, squirmed.

Sandor shoved her down and strode away. He wanted her sex. He needed her sex. And would never take it again.

They were all damned anyway. It would practically be a mercy to kill her. It would practically be a mercy to kill himself.

He brought himself to a harsh and miserable climax in the woods. What would i_Ser/i _Jaime think if he knew his precious sister had taken the Hound's cock up her ass? Sandor rested his forehead against a tree, energy drained with his cum. Damned bitch-queen.

Damned stupid dog.


End file.
